“Thank you, Vikram,” Sage Vamadeva said. “That was quite enlightening. Do the princes have any questions?”
Rama’s hand flew up once again, but I did not stay to hear his question. I had learned enough.
After the meeting of the Mantri Parishad, I returned to the lesson chamber, hoping to catch Sage Vamadeva before he departed. In a moment of luck, he was gathering his books, his eyes firmly on his work as I approached him. When the silence became too awkward to bear, I coughed, put on a small, polite smile and asked, “How did the remainder of the lesson go?”
Still he did not look up from his work. “It went well, although I know you did not come here to talk to me about that.”
I tilted my head, keeping my gaze upon him. “Then tell me why you think I’m here.”
Vamadeva braced his hands on the table and slowly lifted his head to look at me. His eyes were light, gray like mist against the dark brown of his skin. Absentmindedly, I wondered whether one of his parents had been from the south, for he did not look fully like a man from Videha, the northern kingdom he hailed from. “You were unhappy with what you heard.”
He had addressed me twice now but had yet to use my title. I pushed past the disrespect. “Do you truly think that was a worthy use of their lesson?”
His stare was cold, and I remembered that despite his age this man had the blessings of many gods and had performed miraculous works on their behalf. There was a reason Dasharath had sought him out. “It is important for them to hear other perspectives. No one person can know everything—not even you.”
So I had not misinterpreted the disrespect.
“I never claimed to know everything,” I said evenly. “But you are instructing them in religion and morals. Hearing about how one man prefers his wife and children to live is not instructive.”
“I am their teacher, and I find it instructive.” He looked back down at his books. “Your sons do not seem to mind.”
“My sons are children,” I said. “It is your duty to guide them. Surely you would not take them to the irreputable parts of the city, though one might argue that certain knowledge resides there.”
“Of course I would not do such a thing,” he said, shaking his head slowly, his white hair catching the waning sun from the window and throwing flashes of light as though he was anointed. “But I will not argue with you about this. The will of the gods is immutable. They must learn these truths somewhere.”
My temper was fraying quickly. I slipped instinctively into the Binding Plane, but there was nothing between us. I needed to goad him into saying something he would regret, something I could use to get him dismissed and end this foolishness. “And they will not learn it from me? Is that what you’re implying?”
Vamadeva quirked his lips as though I had said something funny. “I have no problem with you. But this world is awash with immorality, and I do not see you stepping up to stop it.”
I was appalled that this loathsome man had been teaching my sons for so long, that I had not sought to speak to him before. But this was enough. I could tell Dasharath, quite truthfully, that he had disrespected me. “I see. Well, thank you for speaking with me,” I said.
I did not wait to hear his response, but swept from the room without a backward glance.
As I had thought, Dasharath proved easy enough to convince. I had first come to him with implications that I had heard secondhand from Rama, but now—
“And he did not even call you radnyi?” he confirmed.
“Why would he do that, when he plainly thought me immoral?” I said. And although I rarely did so anymore, I found the golden bond between us and tugged on it for good measure.
Dasharath sighed. “He may be a pious man, but plainly he can no longer serve as a tutor. I will have him dismissed in the morning.”
It was far harder to explain things to Rama. “Sage Vamadeva has left,” he cried.
“I am sorry,” I said, reaching out my hand to him. “I had to send him away.”
Rama did not take my hand, and instead looked at me with suspicion. “You sent him away?”
“Yes. His teachings are not fit for princes of Kosala.”
“But I liked him,” Rama said. “He was an excellent teacher.”
“You have many fine teachers,” I told him. “There was nothing special about this one, I assure you.”
“But he knew,” Rama protested. “He knew I was a god, and he wanted to help me.”
He said it simply, but those words caused my heart to catch in my throat. Rama knew what he was. Rama knew of his godhood and had spoken about it with this sage rather than his own family. “I did not realize you knew who you were,” I said, my voice sounding strangely raspy.
“I have always known something was special about me, that something else is inside of me.” Rama spoke so matter-of-factly, I hardly knew what to say. “Sage Vamadeva taught us that gods come to Bharat to rid it of evil. He was going to prepare me.”
“You don’t need him.” I said the words too quickly, and I hoped he could not sense my jealousy toward a man whom we would never see again. “You will have other teachers. And I am always here to help you.”
Rama did not care for my platitudes. “But I wanted him to help me.” His lower lip trembled. “I don’t understand why you have to do this!” A few fat tears slipped down his cheeks, and he stomped his foot in frustration. Despite my anger at Sage Vamadeva for commanding such a place of prominence in Rama’s life so quickly, I felt bad for my son, who was blameless.
“What he was teaching you was wrong,” I said. “You don’t want to take guidance from someone who does not even understand how the kingdom should work, do you?”
“What did he say that was wrong?”
I considered how best to explain this to Rama. “Kosala is changing. Women like me and your other mothers are doing important work. Some people don’t like that, and he is one of them. You need a more modern tutor.”
“I don’t want someone else,” Rama said softly, and I could tell no explanation would be satisfying to him.
“Oh, Rama,” I said. “Come here.” This time he took my hand and I held him close. I understood in many ways how he was feeling, although I had not realized he was so attached to Sage Vamadeva. I thought briefly of my mother. “Sometimes people we want to stay with us cannot. I am sorry to have done that to you.”
And I was sorry to have caused him pain, even if I knew it was for the best. I had to do what was right for Rama, even if it went against his wishes. But this pain would pass, and I could ease it along. “How about we go to the kitchens, hmm? I am sure we could sneak some sweets before lunch.”
Rama nodded enthusiastically, extricating himself from me. The hurt was already forgotten. He was a god, but he was also just a boy, and I was determined to let him stay one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JEALOUS WHORE. THE GREEN-EYED radnyi. I have heard every name people have called me behind my back. Some claim I sent Rama into the forest because I could not bear for Kaushalya to become Queen Mother, because I could not bear for a son I had not carried in my womb to take the throne.
If only it were that simple.
For five perfect years, I suspected nothing at all. Not of Rama, nor of discontent in our kingdom, nor that any plan of mine could go awry. Time carried me along its current, ignorant and happy.
In being named saciva, I had achieved all the freedom I could hope to. But I found myself continuing to work, for if it was in my power to assist other women, I felt I had to. And there were still plenty of women who needed help, for attitudes changed slowly. Even outside of the Women’s Council, people brought their problems to me, and I did my best to help.
One evening, after I returned from a meeting of the Women’s Council, Rama came to me. “Do you have a moment?” he asked.
“Of course.” We spoke often, but today he looked unusually pensive. “What is it?”